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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682637">Redemption</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabidRabbit/pseuds/RabidRabbit'>RabidRabbit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dettlaff lives, Friendship, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Redemption, vampire buddies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:14:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabidRabbit/pseuds/RabidRabbit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>re·demp·tion<br/>the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil. Similar: saving/freeing from sin, vindication, absolution<br/>the action of regaining or gaining possession of something in exchange for payment, or clearing a debt.</p>
<p>Dettlaff does not want redemption. Nor does he want a friend. But wants and needs are not always the same, and friends don't always do what you want them to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Redemption</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hate writing dialogue. So why did these guys decide to spend most of the fic talking? </p>
<p>My entry to the second writing challenge on the 'witcher world-original fan art' page on facebook, to the prompt 'Dettlaff's redemption'. As always, I'd appreciate constructive criticism so please tell me what worked and what didn't! No improving without it. ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. I should have known you’d follow me.”</p>
<p>It was true. With how closely they were bound, both by shared history and shared blood in all senses of the words, it had been idle hope that rushing off into the night would have kept his bloodbrother from finding him. He wasn’t even sure whether he was grateful for Regis’s determination or annoyed that the other vampire didn’t respect his wish for solitude. The rage that had burned inside him for so many weeks of grief and worry had fizzled out and left him feeling empty, the hollow shell of a man lost in a landscape of ashes, no matter how beautiful the actual wilderness around him was. </p>
<p>“Of course I did. I can’t very well let my brother suffer through this alone now can I?” </p>
<p>Regis sat down next to him in companionable silence, dangling his legs over the edge of the precipice in front of them. A sheer drop, so deep he could barely make out the individual trees far below, stretched out beyond the worn leather of the other’s shoes. </p>
<p>He didn’t know how long he’d been staring out into the distance, thumping the backs of his own boots against the rough stone. Was this the second sunrise he’d seen here? The third? It didn’t matter. Hunger had long since ceased to gnaw at him, food having lost its charm when he’d killed Louis, and time itself had little meaning to his kind.<br/>
The count de la Croix had been the closest thing to a friend he’d had among humans in many a year, and whilst a relationship with such a being could never be the same as the bonds he had with his brethren, his betrayal of the man’s trust and friendship went against everything he believed in. There was no justice or honour to be found in a murder like that, even when done in desparation. It would weigh on his mind for a long time to come, souring any joy life’s simple pleasures could give. </p>
<p>“I half expected you to aid the witcher in killing me.”<br/>
He wasn’t sure whether that’d have been worse than this horrid emptiness. He’d never before considered immortality a curse, but he could now see how mortals could long for the solace of death. </p>
<p>“Geralt is not a man who kills sentient beings easily. Nor would he take the life of a friend I hold dearer than any other. He knows I owe you a debt that cannot be repaid.“</p>
<p>Dettlaff scoffed. Of course he did. Whyever would Regis, with his centuries of serving humans as he lived amongst them, <em>not</em> share the secrets of their kind with a man made to slaughter them? </p>
<p>“You are foolishly trusting.” </p>
<p>“Perhaps, perhaps not. But I’d rather offer trust and company than suspicion and loneliness.” </p>
<p>“Your policy of trust and company led to me finding you smeared out along the molten remains of a stone pillar, forgive me for not taking your word for its superiority.” </p>
<p>“Forgiveness granted of course. But it is not me whose forgiveness you need, is it? How many of our lesser brethren died in your temper tantrum? How many more will die now knowledge of the ways to kill them has become so widespread? No more fables of silver and garlic to keep us safe. How many humans will despise us now your herd has slaughtered their loved ones in their own homes? How many will grow up orphaned or not grow up at all? You are not a cruel man Dettlaff, nor are you without morals. You must know your actions of these last few weeks were unjust.” </p>
<p>“Of course I know! I am no mindless beast, slavering for blood without thought. But what would you have me do? Grovel and beg for forgiveness from the rabble? Bare my neck to them? Lie down for a stoning? Offer blood for blood? I am not you Regis, I don’t atone for my sins by debasing myself.” </p>
<p>“I never debase myself. But neither do I suffer from an overinflated ego, nor a superiority complex. I know you Dettlaff. You cover your guilt with bitterness like you covered your broken heart with anger and you’ll let it fester until it eats you up.”</p>
<p>Dettlaff huffed, annoyed with Regis for knowing him too well, and with himself for being predictable. Curse the man for his even-tempered level-headedness when Dettlaff longed to wallow.</p>
<p>“What then, oh great barber-surgeon, would you prescribe? A decade or five in a grave to think about my sinful existence? A decapitation and some stakes first perhaps?” </p>
<p>“It did me a world of good, yes, but I was young and foolish. You have not been either for a long time. Nor do I think you have the temperament for such an experience and I’d rather not have you go through it.”<br/>
The words were accompanied by a faint smile, like the memory of his first near-death experience was something Regis remembered fondly, an amusing footnote in his own history that had long since lost its sting. </p>
<p>“I stand by my words. You are a fool.” </p>
<p>“Would you let me be foolish once again then? Let me help you. There is blood on your hands and a darkness on your soul that will never wash away but you can scrub at them. You can choose to work to set your wrongs to right. I will not suggest you shave cheeks or pull sore teeth, but you can set your mind to making a difference. To atone. In your own way.” </p>
<p>Dettlaff would have liked to scoff. To grunt and snarl and bare his teeth. To tell his old friend to stuff it, to stick both his atonement and his help in some deep dark place the sun would never reach. But Regis’ words uncovered a tiny ember stubbornly clinging to life in the bleak desolation of ash his soul had become, the care and support he offered encouraging it to glow. Perhaps some sort of atonement would bring him purpose, some direction or goal to put his mind to. </p>
<p>“Very well then.” he said with a deep sigh. “Lead the way.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Many a decade later, Madeleine -Maddy to her friends and the children- unlocked the heavy front door of La Compassion Orphanage. The hinges squeaked slightly in the early morning silence, much like her own bones when she rose from her bed. She’d find some oil to grease them with later. She wanted to enjoy the sunrise first. </p>
<p>She’d spend most of her life at the orphanage, coming in as a snot-nosed kid still covered in the sooth and ash of the night of the long fangs, then growing up and taking over more and more of the matron’s tasks. That first year had been hard, with the orphanage losing its Lady and both the master and mistress gone and murdered. The ducal chancellery had been preoccupied with greater things than a run-down home for lost children, and Maddy’s tenure had started with hunger, cold and neglect.</p>
<p>It had changed though. Shipments of food and gold had started coming in at the end of summer. Crates of toys and clothes soon followed, a steady stream of all the goods necessary to raise a gaggle of unwanted kids into healthy adults. Maddy had learned to read and write using the books that had come sometime in her second year at La Compassion, right around the time the roof had been fixed and she’d gotten a thick new blanket of her own.</p>
<p>Many kids had tried to find out who their secret benefactor was once they’d gone out into the world. They’d searched amongst the aristocracy, the traders and vintners, even the witcher that lived close by hadn’t escaped their scrutiny. But none had admitted to it, and whoever it was managed to deliver the gifts without ever leaving any trace, unannounced and in the deep of night. She’d hired the witcher once, when a stack of crates had appeared once again, but the man had only smiled slightly after sniffing around, refusing her gold and telling her to stop searching for people who didn’t want to be found lest she was disappointed when finding them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whoever it was, Maddy was grateful. They might not have a name, but they had made the difference between a short life of poverty and hunger and a childhood of play and education for so many kids over the years.<br/>
For whatever reason it was, she was grateful that for someone, the gutter rats that were so often overlooked in the grand scheme of things were worth remembering.</p>
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